


Watchtower

by syntheticaesthetic



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, USS Caryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticaesthetic/pseuds/syntheticaesthetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol joins Daryl for watch, and tries to make him smile again. One-shot, set after season 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watchtower

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This is a One-Shot Caryl fic for the USS-Caryl (uss-caryl.tumblr.com) fan fiction contest. The rules were that we had to have the setting as one of the watchtowers, use the sentence “deer are fuckin’ majestic”, and had to incorporate a shoebox, a toothbrush, a purple scarf, and a rubber duck. 
> 
> I wrote this in about a half hour, and I haven’t gone back to spell check or beta it, sorry.

             She wasn’t sure why she found it so striking that the watchtower that she was now standing on top of was the last one standing. The damage to the prison was severe. The remnants of the rest of the towers lay on the ground. The door to C Block was barely functional, and much of the outer fencing needed repairs still. A lot of work had been done in the last few days – with the Governor still out there and extra hands to spare from Woodbury there had been no sense in postponing the task in favor of celebrating their victory, however short term _that_ may be.

            Perhaps the significance lay in the representation of that fact – it was their group that had been triumphant this time, not the Governor.  They were the last ones standing, not just of this battle, but also within the larger context of the world. Here she – Carol Peletier – stood, upon the last watchtower standing in the Georgia State Penitentiary, as one of the last survivors of the State of Georgia.

            Who would have thought?

            Certainly not Carol herself. It was funny in a way, the irony of it all. She’d become very appreciative of irony in the last year.  The way she looked at it she had two choices – find it funny or give in to the depressing reality of it all. No matter what could be said about her past, Carol Peletier was no longer a victim, thanks in part to her companion, whom she could hear coming up the stairs now for his watch. She shifted her weight from her arms, which had been leaning on the guardrail as looked out upon the prison, as she turned her head to look at Daryl as he came through the door, crossbow thrown over his shoulder as always, his eyes squinting into the sun.

            “Hey.” She greeted him, receiving a nod and a grunt in return. Her eyes followed him as he made his way around the top of the watchtower, taking in the state of things, as was his habit. He’d told her once why he did it, during a late night watch not too long before Maggie and Glenn had been taken.

            “Gotta know how things are now, so that I know when they change.” He’d told her simply.

            Carol smirked to herself as he finished his task and joined her at the guardrail. The response was just so succinctly _Daryl._

            “What?” he asked, throwing her that look he had, the one that told her he was annoyed but curious, and somewhat amused all at the same time despite himself. Closing his eyes he leaned his face into the sun, soaking it in. Carol could tell that he relished every moment he spent outside in the fresh air. With the new neighbors from Woodbury, Daryl no longer had the option of sleeping on the perch undisturbed. The cell he’d dumped his things in upon his return with Merle after the Dixons had parted ways with them, had been intended as more of a temporary solution to a problem that no longer existed, regrettably. Without his duty to his brother to motivate him, sleeping in a cell was an incredibly confining experience for him, even now, and it showed – quite obviously too – at least to their own small group.

            Though Daryl’s eyes were quite alert, constantly flicking here and there and back again, the bags under his eyes told of many a sleepless night spent tossing and turning. Carol wasn’t the only one who suspected that the poor man suffered from nightmares the few times he even attempted sleep. Always a man of action, Daryl always found every excuse he could to stay awake and active in an attempt to ward off the troubles his mind would no doubt cook up for him.

            “Hey – I’m talkin’ to ya,” Daryl mumbled, nudging her boot with his own to get her attention. She smiled at him briefly before turning her own gaze outward, now squinting herself.

            “Sorry.”

            “Ya gonna tell me what’s so funny?”  
            “Probably not.”

            Daryl snorted. “Fine, then. Be that way.”

            “I will.”

            She held her composure for about a half a second, before letting a little giggle escape her lips. She was pleased to see a small upturn in the corner of his own mouth. She’d missed bantering with him.  Heaving an exaggerated sigh, she turned to him, crossing her arms over her chest.

            “So…” she started, looking him over pointedly. He raised an eyebrow in return.

            “What, woman?”

            “The elusive Daryl Dixon emerges from the woods. Done playing with the deer for the day?” she asked.

            Daryl scoffed at her. “What you got against the deer, anyway?”

            “Nothing.” She returned. “Deer are noble and fantastic creatures.”

            “Yeah, yeah, deer are fuckin’ _majestic.”_ He was rolling his eyes as he moved to prop his foot up on the guardrail, but his playful tone was welcome.

            “Taste good too.” Carol countered, struggling not say anything as his foot missed its mark and he pitched forward, the surprise obvious in his features. Shooting her a glare, but recovering quickly, it was his turn to smirk.

            “ _Yer welcome,”_ He told her dryly.

            She gave him in indulgent look, before becoming serious. She leaned in close to him, resting her shoulder on his, gently, briefly. “I’ve missed you.” As predicted, his features became closed off, distant. For the briefest of moments Carol really wished he wasn’t so difficult, so _Daryl._ All she wanted was to get through to him. Leaning back a little to catch his gaze, she plunged ahead. “I’ve hardly seen you around lately. Been lonely.”

            Daryl refused to meet her eyes, opting instead to scuff his feet on the ground. “Yeah, well, gotta provide for everyone, don’t I? Got more mouths to feed now.” He groused, pointedly.

            “Its not all on you, you know that don’t you?”

            He shrugged in response, as if to say “who else?” It dawned on Carol that while it may be Rick burdened with the responsibility of making all of the hard decisions, it was Daryl’s burden to make those decisions a reality. Selfishly, she wished that Merle hadn’t gone and done what he did – that way he’d be around to take on some of the grunt work too. Given time, maybe he could have proved himself to the others, and then Daryl could have been relieved of some of the responsibility and wouldn’t have to leave so often. Maybe Tyreese could help pick up the slack? She hoped so.

            She said nothing as she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, trying to offer what solace she could. All Daryl needed was some time and space to grieve where he felt comfortable, but with all of the newcomers and all of the work yet to be done, it didn’t seem likely. 

            They sat quietly for a moment, before something seemed to occur to Daryl. He made a quiet noise to himself, before gently dislodging her hand so that he could delve deep into his pocket. “Found this.” He informed her, pulling the object out and handing it to her. Her purple scarf.

            She raised her eyebrows at him, a smile playing at her lips. “Digging through my things again, Daryl?”

            “Hmm. Looking for my rubber duck, ya seen it?”

            “No, I haven’t. Though I am looking for my toothbrush. Have you seen that?”

            “Nah, but I found an ol’ shoebox in one o’ the ol’ offices. Want it?”

            “We could start a lost and found. With your tracking skills and my way with people we could have our own business. Trade in food. Or condoms. What do you think?” she waggled her eyebrows at him until he had no choice but to give in and laugh with her. It was nice, seeing him laugh again. The corners of his eyes crinkled and the years trickled off his face. Shaking his head at her he pointed at the scarf again.

            “Damn mutt had it. Stupid thing needs to go.”

            “Don’t even pretend, Daryl Dixon, that you want anything more than to sit down with that dog and rub its belly.”

            His silence prompted her to look at him, to see his baby blue’s piercing her. The look he was giving her had her suddenly wishing that his shift on watch was over, and not just beginning, because it told her plainly that there may be _something_ he was more interested in than that old Golden Retriever. 

            She forced herself not to do anything they’d both regret.

            It had to be something about this watchtower. Maybe it contained some sort of aphrodisiac, judging by the amount of times they’d found Maggie and Glenn flushing and nearly naked.

            “Carol!”

            “Hmm?” Daryl facing her now, both of his hands on his hips. She had to force herself not to leer. What had she even started? This train of thought was all her fault.

            “You even payin’ attention, woman? Asked you a question.”

            “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

            “Figured. Asked you if you had anything that you should be doin’ right now?”

            Carol couldn’t help it, her mind went _there._

_Don’t say it! Don’t say it! Don’t say it! Carol Peletier don’t you say it, girl!_

“Daryl!”

            Carol started as Rick’s voice called up to them. “Could I get a hand, down here?”

            As Daryl squeezed her shoulder lightly, and made his way down to Rick, Carol buried her face in her hands. 

            She was going to hell. Still, she couldn’t regret her decision to climb the watchtower and wait for Daryl. It was worth it just to see him laugh again. She’d climb that watchtower every day and wait for him, just for an encore. 


End file.
